


The Damosel Yonder

by Wil



Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-20
Updated: 2010-08-20
Packaged: 2017-10-11 04:30:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wil/pseuds/Wil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ragnelle wants a husband and gets one. Gawain POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Damosel Yonder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pincerna](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Pincerna).



> For Tate, who wanted something with Gawain! And Ragnelle and can there please be joyfulness and happy fluffiness.  The prompt kind of went not where I wanted it to go, but there are happy times. For some people. Er.

  
She had a crooked nose.

She had a crooked nose, twisted hands, skewed eyes, limp hair, and a large, hairy wart in the middle of her left cheek. Oh, the Loathly Lady was loathly indeed.

“Who will take me for his wife,” she asked again, words booming across the portico like a taunt.

Resounding silence ensued while the King rubbed his face tiredly. Standing behind him, his first commander's face was inscrutable. Gawain found nothing pleasant in the woman's face, but onto her as onto any other, he would do succour.

“The king gave me his word,” the hag said again, “that he would find me a husband. So who will it be?” She seemed to search the assembly with keen eyes before they affixed themselves onto Sir Dinadan. “Will it be you?”

The bard-knight's eyes widened and held up his mandolin. “My heart belongs to my lover,” he replied, with charm despite his visible distaste, “but were it not for her tyranny, sweet lady, I would ask the King for your hand at once.”

The hall boomed with laughter and the hag turned her gaze onto those who laughed the loudest. Gawain's face remained impassible, though perhaps it was simply a sign of his duty.

“Will it be you,” she turned, and asked Sir Kay, who was not quite as pleasant as Sir Dinadan, if truth be told, and that was saying more than a little.

“Lady,” Kay told her dismissively, “You don't want a husband like me. I don't sing, dance, and do all those things ladies need a man to do to keep up appearances. I only serve my brother. No, it shan't be me.”

Again, there was hilarity in the open space surrounding the throne. The Loathly lady pointed her finger through the crowd, again. “And you?” Gawain stiffened as she addressed his brother Agravain. He had even less tact than the other two – cruelty might be expected.

“I'm already married, my lady,” he groaned in reply. “And frankly happier for it since the moment I've seen your face.”

Before the court could jab some more at the ugly hag, the king stood and Gawain hit his shield with his sword's pummel. The loud noise traveled across the hall and was the great equalizer. Silence.

“Is there not one who will take this lady for his lady wife?” Arthur Pendragon's voice was loud, rousing, engaging, but Gawain could tell a discreet pool of anger was fermenting in his uncle's throat. The veins on the side of his neck pulsed when King Arthur's temper was on the rise. “Is there not one who will keep his king's word? All anointed knights of noble birth, goodly vassals of the king are here, and none will offer this lady succour for coming to your king's aid?”

Gawain looked at the lady, the king, then at the assembly. On the dais above, the Queen was looking on and shaking her head in disapproval. Her gaze rested on Gawain a moment. Not an order, no, but a reminder of past mistakes. The implications made his head spin. Did an oath really have to go that far? If I wed her, he told himself, I will forever be mocked. His immediate second thought was he had the best excuse in the world to make her a cuckold.

All the same, he stepped forward. “My lord,” he began, “if the lady will have me, an it please you, I would make the damosel yonder my lady wife.”

There was a moment of shocked silence. Arthur looked at the Loathly Lady. She nodded, grinning a little, and waved (girlishly) at Gawain who managed (miraculously) not to wince and smile politely (if tightly) instead.

“Aye, Sir Gawain, my nephew,” the king replied. “So mote it be. You will be married in a fortnight.”

Gawain couldn't decide whether these fourteen days were the longest or the shortest of his life. If truth be told, many a wench gave him her favour in that time – and yet, in the deepest thralls of passion, he ever found himself thinking of the lady's intelligent and seeking gaze.

He would not have told anyone, but he'd never seen such lovely eyes.


End file.
